


Loud and Clear

by jibber_jabber



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Backstory, Banter, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Character Study, Cunnilingus, F/F, Humor, Oral Sex, Riften (Elder Scrolls), Snark, Thieves Guild (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering, an origin story of sorts for Grelka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibber_jabber/pseuds/jibber_jabber
Summary: Grelka had seen a lot of complete (pardon her language)fuckingidiots drift in and out of Riften over the years, but the thief that tried to steal her armor in broad daylight had to be at the top of the list.
Relationships: Grelka/Sapphire (Elder Scrolls)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Loud and Clear

Grelka had seen a lot of complete (pardon her language) _fucking_ idiots drift in and out of Riften over the years, but the thief that tried to steal her armor in broad daylight had to be at the top of the list.

She always slunk around Madesi’s stand at night, fingers twitching whenever she got within three feet of the damn stall. One of Brynjolf’s, for sure. It was easy enough to tell, with the stench of The Ratway that clung to her skin and the grime that covered her face. Disgusting. During the day it was worse, because she often lurked about the marketplace, sometimes even scaring off potential customers.

One particularly cold and windy day—the kind that made Grelka question her will to live, both in Skyrim and in general—the thief, instead of eyeing up Madesi’s spot, spent most of the day sizing up her armor stand. She leaned against the wall by Balimund’s forge oh-so-casually, as if Grelka was blind and couldn’t see exactly what she was doing. Grelka shot her the angriest look she could muster, which was, to be clear, quite angry.

The thief was pretty, though, Grelka had to admit. She had fiery eyes, too. Ones that matched her own.

“Grelka? You still haven’t given me an answer on fixing that faulty bracer you sold me.”

Grelka’s gaze snapped back to Bolli. The insufferable Nord found issue with every piece of armor she’d ever sold to him. This time it was a leather bracer, which he held out to her. “Don’t say that so loud, for gods’ sakes,” she grumbled, swiping the leather bracer from his grasp. “My armor isn’t _faulty_. You were probably just careless with it, like you always are.”

“I haven’t even worn it yet!” Bolli protested.

She inspected the armor. To her chagrin, he was right. Several of the fasteners had started to come loose already. 

“Fine.” Grelka set the bracer down. “That’ll be five Septims to fix.”

Bolli spluttered, but knew better than to argue with her. As he slid the Septims across the stall, Grelka inspected each coin individually, ignoring Bolli’s huff of annoyance. Over on the other side of the marketplace, a smooth, charming voice struck up a familiar tune.

“People of Riften, gather ‘round! I have something incredible to show you all.”

Within seconds, those who were travelers or tourists perked up, forming a crowd around Brynjolf, the man of the hour. Grelka rolled her eyes up towards Aetherius. This little charade of his happened at least three times a week, and most of the locals recognized it as little more than a distraction so his underlings could make petty thefts. Across the way, Madesi shifted and reached under his stall to secure the lockbox. One of his rings had been stolen a week ago, and Grelka was pretty sure she knew who was responsible.

As if she’d read Grelka’s mind, the thief turned to stare at her again, tilting her chin up, taunting her. Grelka tightened her grip on the leather bracer, knuckles turning white, and pursed her lips. What in Oblivion did that stupid woman want? She shooed Bolli away and promised she’d have it fixed by Morndas, then tried to ignore both Brynjolf’s scam and the eyes of the thief.

“Lads and lasses, I have in my possession a bottle of genuine Falmers’ blood, guaranteed to cure you of any ails you can imagine.” He held up a tall, red bottle, accompanied by a smarmy grin. “Have a headache? Gone in a second. Have a stomach ache? Give it a try. You can’t lose with this stuff.”

“Have shit coming out of your ass?” Grelka muttered, aggressively tightening one of the bolts on the leather bracer. “Drink this.”

The bottle suddenly slipped out of Brynjolf’s fingers and smashed onto the ground. Glass scattered across the wooden boards and fell through their cracks, into the polluted waters below. The crowd leapt out of the way, trying to avoid stepping on the shards. Grelka rose from her stool, startled by the commotion. Judging by the upward flash of his eyebrows, this wasn’t part of the usual routine.

“I beg you, please don’t go away just yet,” Brynjolf pleaded, raising another bottle in the air. This one was green, an obvious indicator that the potions were different. But the tourists bought it anyway, slowly inching back to their original spectator spots.

That’s when Grelka heard a rustling behind her.

_That bitch._

She whirled around and caught the offending wrist in her hand. The thief was thin, so much so that Grelka’s fingers wrapped all the way around.

“Not so fast,” Grelka snarled, her gaze coming up to meet the thief’s. An equally furious stare matched her own, but the thief made no move to escape. Grelka leaned in, hissing under her breath. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I didn’t think you lot were stupid enough to go after my stand in the daylight.”

“If I were you, I’d let go right now.” Her voice was calm, measured. “It’ll save you a lot of trouble.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because.” The thief spoke slowly, enunciating every word. “The Thieves’ Guild has Maven Black-Briar, and by extension, all of Riften in its pocket. One shout from me, and those guards over there,” she tilted her head slightly to the right, to where a pair of guards idled by the water, “will have you arrested faster than you can blink.”

Grelka grunted, face flushed with anger. But she wasn’t a godsdamn fool, and so she dropped the thief’s wrist with a snarl. “Fine. I’ll believe you, against my better judgement.”

The thief leaned in, making as if to pick her pockets, and Grelka instinctively reached for the sword she kept at her side. A wry smile crossed the thief’s lips. “I’m not going to hurt you. Or rob you.” Then she leaned in. “Come to The Bee and Barb later tonight,” she whispered, breath hot in Grelka’s ear.

Grelka turned to glare at her, their lips now close to touching. She tightened her fists to suppress the shiver that threatened to run up her spine. “And what if I don’t?” she hissed.

She ignored the question. “Ask for Sapphire.”

Then, without waiting for a response, she slipped into the throng of shoppers that had just arrived for the midday rush and disappeared. Grelka blinked a few times, trying to pick her out of the crowd—but like a shadow, the thief was gone.

* * *

The Bee and Barb annoyed Grelka for two reasons. One, it was too noisy. Why would she want to pay too many Septims for a bottle of mead just to sit and drink it while listening to inane conversations and the warbling of whatever piss-poor excuse for a bard they’d gotten to perform that week? For the first reason alone, she usually took her breakfast at the inn, when it was at its quietest, and preferred to spend the evening drinking alone in the bunkhouse.

Two, it was like a breeding ground for those stupid thieves whenever they needed to take care of business outside the Ratway. Case in point: the thief who had asked to meet her at the inn. 

Yet, despite every bone in her body telling her to stay the fuck away, Grelka went. As expected, The Bee and Barb was crowded that night, filled with the sounds of warm laughter and a crackling hearth. Patrons clinked their tankards and bottles of ale together, chattering in small groups. Immediately, a prickly, annoyed heat crawled over her skin. She slammed ten septims down on the counter in exchange for some Black-Briar Mead (not like there was any other kind since that moron down at Honningbrew Meadery had gotten mixed up with Maven) and swiped the bottle out of the innkeeper’s grasp. Grelka felt a little bad about this, since Keerava could actually be alright sometimes.

“Sorry,” she muttered, tossing a few extra coins her way as a tip. “Long day.”

Keerava nodded understandingly and didn’t say anything further. Grelka tightened her grip around the bottle’s neck and slunk into the inn, doing her best to blend in with the walls. Last thing she needed was someone recognizing her and stopping to have a conversation.

“I didn’t think you’d show.”

Grelka exhaled sharply, stifling the gasp she’d almost let out as she realized that Sapphire had been behind her for gods knows how long. Waiting in the shadows. She leaned casually against the wall by the staircase, arms folded over her chest, and smirked. “Guess you didn’t see me,” she remarked, studying her fingernails and shooting another sly glance at Grelka.

In response, Grelka swigged the bottle of mead, downing about a quarter of it in a sip or two. She figured she’d need to be a lot drunker than she had anticipated for this. “Don’t be so arrogant. Of course I saw you.”

“Sure, and I’m the Jarl of Riften.” Sapphire gave her that infuriating smirk again before crooking a finger. “Follow me.”

They sat at a wooden table tucked in the back, shielding them from view of most of the patrons at The Bee and Barb thanks to a large wooden pillar. The hearth and the large quantities of alcohol she’d consumed thus far brought a warm, pleasant flush to Grelka’s cheeks, and she almost found herself feeling pleased to be at the inn that night. Almost.

Sapphire took a sip from the tankard she held. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me. Go ahead.”

 _Thanks for giving me your fucking permission_ , Grelka thought. “I asked earlier, but never got an answer. Why did you decide to go after my armor in broad daylight, while I was standing right there? Surely the Thieves’ Guild isn’t foolish enough to do something like that, what with all the bystanders around.” 

Something in the way her lips twitched downwards at the suggestion that she was a sloppy thief made Grelka raise her eyebrows. So there it was—the tiniest crack in her tough outer shell. “You’re acting like I didn’t want to get caught,” Sapphire said quickly, jabbing a finger into the table. “Believe me, if I didn’t want you to see me… you wouldn’t have.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Grelka shot back. “It was a bad job. Your own leader dropped that ‘Falmer blood,’ and it was obviously an accident.”

“Brynjolf’s not the guildmaster. And it worked out, anyway—you were distracted.” Sapphire shrugged, leaned back. 

“Not distracted enough to be fooled by the likes of you.”

At this, Sapphire’s eyes narrowed. She took a long, slow drag of her mead and set the tankard down carefully, staring at Grelka with what could only be described as disdain. “I bet you think we’re all just scum, right? Like everyone else does.” Suddenly, she leaned forward. “Ask me why I joined the Thieves’ Guild. Go on.”

Grelka looked to the side dismissively and snorted. “I don’t play games like that.”

“Fine, then I’ll tell you why.”

There was something about the way Sapphire said it that commanded—no, demanded, Grelka’s attention in that moment. She turned to face the thief, running a thumb down the side of her tankard. 

Her family was poor, pig farmers in the middle of the Skyrim countryside (“Ate the same slop we fed to our livestock,” she said, and a shudder of revulsion ran down Grelka’s spine). On a cold winter’s night, when Sapphire was just a teenager, they were attacked by bandits who ransacked their home and killed her family. Then they took her hostage, doing unspeakable things to her. Things that might have brought tears to Grelka’s eyes had she been with someone she could be less guarded around. One night, she took a knife to all their throats and ran, and Grelka couldn’t blame her for it. Not one bit. Sapphire told this story in exacting detail, but also in a casual manner, as if this were something that hardly even affected her.

But it did. Grelka could see it in her eyes.

When she finished, there was a long silence. Grelka downed the rest of her mead, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settle in her stomach. “So that’s why you joined the Thieves Guild,” she said at last. “To survive.”

“Something like that.” Sapphire uncrossed the arms she’d held tightly to her chest throughout the whole tale. “It’s not all bad, you know. A traveler came through Riften last Sun’s Dawn. Said he’d been to Solstheim and found my real father in Raven Rock. It was… somewhat of a relief to know where I really come from and that there’s someone still out there that’s family. By blood, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Thieves’ Guild is my family now. They’re the only ones who have ever looked out for me.”

Grelka nodded. “Fair enough.”

Moments passed in silence—a stretching, lingering sort of one. Grelka kept her gaze trained firmly on the fire that dominated the center of the room, but still, she could feel Sapphire’s eyes on her. Watching. Studying. Was that how she sized up all of her marks? Grelka cleared her throat, then downed the rest of her mead, swallowing the bitter remains at the bottom with a grimace.

“So what about you, then?” It was Sapphire who spoke first. “Your tragic backstory?”

“Don’t have one,” Grelka grunted, shooting an annoyed glance at her.

“Ah, come on. Everyone’s got something.” Sapphire teased her finger around the rim of her tankard. “Don’t be so shy.”

“You really want to know about me? Fine.” A sneer crossed Grelka’s face. “I grew up in a small, backwater town in Skyrim, my parents were poor and probably will be until the end of their miserable Nordic lives. So I moved out to sell my wares, and guess what? I’m still basically poor, and I can’t wait until I have enough money saved up to move out of this gods-forsaken place. Preferably somewhere warmer.” She ended this statement with a definitive slam of her now-empty bottle against the table. 

Sapphire considered her. Drank some more of her tankard, swallowing slowly. The bard had stopped playing for the moment, and the room had grown strangely quiet. A subtle heat crept over Grelka’s cheeks, making them flushed, but she quickly willed the embarrassment away, tipping her chin up. She had no reason not to hold her head high—after all, she’d worked hard to get where she was now.

“You seem like a decent and honest person,” Sapphire finally said. “Too bad people like you too often find themselves down on their luck.”

“I’m not ‘down on my luck,’ so let’s just get that straight.” Red spots dangled on the edges of her vision, and she clenched her hands. “And what are you trying to imply with that ‘decent and honest person’ shit? I’m not some milk drinker who’s afraid to get their hands dirty.”

Sapphire arched an eyebrow, smirking. Godsdamnit, why was this so amusing to her? 

“Get their hands dirty, eh? You know, I didn’t mean it that way. Decent and honest people can do bad things too.”

Grelka leaned forward, rubbing her hands roughly over her thighs. She swallowed thickly, voice coming out scratchier than she’d hoped for. “Like what?”

There was no response. Instead, only a small jerk of the head, towards the stairs—where the rooms were. Grelka understood immediately what was to happen, and heat coiled in her stomach. The flush spread to her neck. Still without speaking, Sapphire pushed back from the table and walked away, leaving Grelka to follow. And follow she did, traveling up the stairs behind her (and trying not to make it so obvious that she was enjoying the view in front of her. Gods, how much had she had to drink, exactly?) 

“I’m surprised you followed me, to be honest.” Sapphire was now sitting on the bed, inspecting her nails. She flicked her gaze up towards Grelka. “Didn’t know if I’d lost you back there with all my talking. You don’t seem much for personal conversations.”

Now it was Grelka’s turn to smirk. “To be honest, I was kind of hoping you’d have learned to shut up by this point.” 

When Sapphire got up from the bed, it let out a long, slow creak. Grelka exhaled, trying to steady her sudden nerves, tight with anticipation. 

“Why don’t you make me?” Sapphire said.

Something flared in Grelka, deep and low and hot. She stepped closer, grabbing her shirt with light fingers. “Say that again.”

Sapphire’s eyes were heated now, a mirror of Grelka’s own. “Make. Me.”

In one swift movement, Grelka yanked her in by the collar, and they collided, teeth and tongues and fury, in a kiss. They wasted no time. Sapphire shoved her back so that she hit the wall, pressing every part of their bodies together, then she grabbed Grelka’s wrists and pinned them.

The sex was quick, rough, dirty; there were no soft edges about the way they treated each other. It was fumbling with clothes, ripping them off and flinging them somewhere across the room, quickly forgotten in their haste. It was bite marks on necks and hips grinding into each other and fingernails raking down backs and _oh_. It was Sapphire climbing on top, shoving her breasts into Grelka’s face and asking—no, _ordering_ —her to suck on her nipples. Grelka obliged, swirling her tongue around one nipple before closing in, pressing her lips together. 

She’d always wanted to be in control of everything—her wares, her fortunes, her future outside of Skyrim—but tonight, she wanted no control. She wanted Sapphire to take all of her.

Sapphire whined and bucked against her, a sound that sent heat straight through Grelka, and she ground back as she fumbled with the waistband of her own undergarments. Sapphire’s eyes narrowed when she realized what Grelka was doing, and she snatched her hand away. Then she bent down and whispered, “Let me.”

The undergarments came off, discarded onto the floor and replaced by Sapphire’s tongue swiping up, slowly, and then back down. Maddeningly, it began to move in circles around her clit, pleasure rolling through Grelka’s body. She clutched at the sheets, biting her lip to keep in the cry that threatened to come out. Sapphire stopped for a second and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “You can let it out.”

She released an embarrassing whine as Sapphire slipped a finger inside, continuing to lick and suck, and she could feel the thief’s lips twitch in a smirk as she moaned. “That’s it,” she said, encouraging her. The finger slid in and out in time with her stroking tongue, and Grelka felt half-mad, her words reduced to garbled moans and curses. The pressure built, rising and rising until she came with a burst of pleasure, thrusting her hips as Sapphire crooked her finger. As Grelka came down, Sapphire continued brushing her tongue lightly over her clit, then pulled away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She grinned at Grelka, eyes glazed over and cheeks flushed.

And then it was Grelka’s turn to be in charge—and to return the favor. She rolled Sapphire over, straddling her, and pressed down, bodies molding together. Her hands roamed, skimming every curve and bit of skin, reaching around to lift Sapphire’s ass, cup and squeeze it. Sapphire breathed heavily, cursing into her ear, and pulled her in for another wet kiss. “Fucking get on with it,” she hissed.

Grelka slowed, teasing a nipple between her index finger and thumb, causing Sapphire to groan. “Not so fast.”

She took her time as she moved down her body, pressing her lips to the skin in different places just to see what made her stiffen, made her moan. Then she moved back up to tease her tongue over Sapphire’s nipples again, and pressed her thigh down to rub against her clit. Sapphire whined—high-pitched, needy, in a way that was so utterly undone that Grelka moaned herself—and ground against her leg, rubbing until her breath came in shallow pants. It wasn’t much longer until Sapphire had gone over the edge too, just a little press of Grelka’s fingers on her clit and she spat out her name as she climaxed. 

When it was over, they stilled for a moment to catch their breath. Then Grelka rolled over and off of Sapphire, sinking into the mattress with a sigh. As she stared up at the ceiling, her head still spinning, she decided right there and then that she’d never accept one of Balimund’s propositions to “sharpen his sword” again. Half the time he couldn’t even find her clitoris, let alone figure out how to make her finish. She blew out another long, satisfied sigh, dazed and content.

“That good, huh?”

Although they weren’t looking at each other, Grelka knew she was smirking. “It was alright.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t mocking, surprisingly. More like… teasing. There was a shuffling beside her, and then Sapphire was suddenly pressed up against her side, not quite cuddling but not entirely unaffectionate. She looked up at Grelka, eyes half-lidded.

“What the hell did you want from me, anyway?” Grelka said. 

“Who said I wanted something other than good sex?”

“There’s always a catch with… you people.”

“And by ‘you people,’ you mean thieves, right?” Sapphire snapped. She sat up, jaw clenched, sheet pulled defensively to her chest. “If you must know, I have a proposition for you.”

“If you have a proposition for me,” she retorted. “It kind of sounds like I should fucking know.”

Sapphire grinned, slowly, wickedly, in a way that made Grelka want to hop back into bed with her for round two.

“How do you feel about making a little business arrangement?”

* * *

The next morning came too bright and too early, and Grelka woke to a pounding headache and dry mouth. Too much mead. Still, she felt oddly relaxed as she uncorked one of the potions on the shelf in her room and downed it. The liquid was bitter going down, but a few minutes later, the tension in her forehead started to ease; Elgrim’s hangover cures did the trick every time. She stretched her neck, popping the joints, and let out a contented sigh. Nothing boosted her mood as much as a night like the one she’d just had.

Outside, the air was cold and crisp. A light breeze came off the water that smelled faintly of fish and a lot like the sewer, but for once, it didn’t bother her. She hummed quietly to herself as she assembled her finest pieces of armor around her stall. Nearby, Madesi complained to Brand-Shei about another stolen ring, and Grelka’s lips turned up at the corners ever-so-slightly when she realized who was most likely behind the theft. Balimund, who was setting up his forge for the day and lighting the coals, took note of her good mood and winked at her. She sneered back at him.

Grelka didn’t often have good days, but… today was going to be a good one, she thought.

At least, that’s what she assumed until the day actually began, and buyers flooded into the marketplace to gawk at the goods. By midday, the noise had brought her headache back, and the sun, which she’d initially been excited to see after so many days of cloudy weather, was in that one annoying spot where the light shone directly into her eyes. It was so blinding that she didn’t even see Mjoll the Lioness walking up to her stand until that self-righteous voice addressed her.

“Aerin tells me you might be dealing arms to the Thieves’ Guild.”

Grelka brought a hand to her forehead so that she could look up at Mjoll. She gave her most condescending look and responded, “I’m doing well, Mjoll. How are you on this fine day?”

Mjoll ignored her. “He said he saw you talking to one of their kind last night at the inn.”

“Uh-huh. Has he checked his head for damage lately?” Grelka ducked her head and went back to shining the boots, grunting as she worked. “Maybe he’s seeing things.”

Mjoll’s eyes narrowed. “Very clever. I suppose it’s not true, then? What he says?” As if Grelka hadn’t heard her the first time.

“No. I don’t know what he’s talking about,” she snapped.

“Just so you know, I’m watching you.” Mjoll had ducked down so she was eye-to-eye with Grelka, slammed one hand against the stall. “One slip up, and I report you to the guards. You got that?”

“Whatever you say.”

Mjoll sniffed, appraised Grelka for a moment, and then turned on her heel and stalked over to the edge of the docks, where her ever-faithful lackey, Aerin, awaited her. Grelka drummed her fingers, clenching her jaw as she watched Mjoll leave. That woman was the biggest busybody of anyone in the city and had a superiority complex the size of Sibbi Black-Briar’s ego. It wasn’t like Mjoll was captain of the fucking Riften guard. She ground her teeth, then sighed and busied herself with polishing the steel on one of her pairs of boots, shining them until her heart rate slowed down, and she no longer felt the urge to start a fight with Mjoll—or anyone else who happened to be nearby. This hold had to be filled with some of the most idiotic people in all of Skyrim, although it wasn’t like the rest of the land was any better. As she finished up the polish on one boot, another person came to interrupt her day.

“Good day, m’am. Are you Grelka?”

The question came from a meek and skinny-looking courier, a Nord who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. His hands, which held a stack of letters, shook as he removed one from the top and inspected it.

She nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Great! So, this letter should be for you, then.” He gave a close-lipped smile, eyes shining, clearly pleased with himself. “Gods, what a journey it’s been. Came all the way from Rorikstead, you know. Such a little village in the middle of nowhere, and it took me forever to find. Now I’ve just got to figure out how to get all the way to Dawnstar…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, the letters dangerously close to slipping out of his arms as he did so.

Grelka pressed two fingers to her temple. “Just give me godsdamned letter, would you?”

The courier, who now resembled a frightened rabbit, nodded and shoved the letter at her. “Yes, yes, of course. Here you are.” He laughed nervously.

“Thanks,” she muttered and threw him a couple of coins for good measure. He took them and ran off as quickly as he could.

The letter was tucked in an off-white envelope with only her name on the front, written in messy, loopy script. A wax seal bearing the symbol of Riften held everything together. Grelka’s heart stuttered, much to her annoyance. She brushed the feeling off and glanced around the marketplace, once, twice, three times. When she was positive no one was watching, she peeled the seal off the envelope and opened the yellowed piece of parchment inside. On the edges were unidentified stains that might have been burn marks, and one of the corners was torn.

_Grelka,_

_I’m glad you’ve accepted our proposal. Maven, I’m sure, is thrilled by the prospect of a new weapons dealer. Meet us by the cemetery at dusk. There should be a shadow mark there. We’ll work out the details in a safe location._

_Until next time._

_-S_

Grelka closed the letter and grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading and joining me here in rarepair hell! It's nice and toasty.
> 
> If you feel so inclined, feel free to leave any comments below. Otherwise, thanks again for checking my work, and I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
